


A Fantasy on 3 Melodies

by HeleneOfFlowers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Paris (City), Street Musician Grantaire, inspired by Tom Ward, street guitarist Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeleneOfFlowers/pseuds/HeleneOfFlowers
Summary: Grantaire is a broke street guitarist who plays one night at the corner of the Rue St-Séverin and the Rue de la Harpe in Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this when I got to see Tom Word in Paris two weeks ago. The first thing I thought when I saw him was literally "Omg he's such a fantastic R." but didn't have the time to write down the story until now. Most of these things are what I saw but I simply replaced three people with R, Eponine and Parnasse. I hope you enjoy the story! I'm not a native speaker, so if you find any mistakes, please tell me!

It was cold, as was to be expected by the first day of October. The stars in the dark night sky were hidden by even darker clouds which hung over Paris and threatened to drown the city in rain at any moment. Grantaire wrapped his coat tighter around himself and continued to push his speakers in the direction of the Rue de la Harpe. Tourists from all around the world were hurrying around him to get to Notre-Dame cathedral, or to find that one restaurant their guide advised them to go to. Eponine and Montparnasse hated them. Grantaire however, could not afford to think that way. Tourists were always in the mood to spend money and that way, fill his guitar case with each song he played. But damn the weather. Nothing good ever came out of rain and humidity.

One more turn to the left, then he could see Eponine and Montparnasse waiting for him. Montparnasse was holding a glass of wine in his hand and had the matching bottle the pocket of his black suit jacket. They had met two years ago when Grantaire had been and played in Paris for the first time. Montparnasse had tried to steal his wallet, but when he had seen that there was absolutely _nothing_ in it, it seemed as if he had begun to pity Grantaire. Of course, it was fairly well possible that Eponine was actually the one who had decided to return the wallet and help Grantaire in any way they could, but that's not the way Montparnasse had told the story when he had handed him his wallet back. Now, they helped him sell his CD's whenever Grantaire was in Paris and kept him up to date with whatever was happening in France at the time. As long as they didn't tell him about whatever criminal activities they were involved in, Grantaire appreciated their company. 

“Hi! How was your trip here?”, asked Eponine as soon as Grantaire was in hearing distance and they kissed on the cheeks to greet. Grantaire pulled a face.  
“Long, but you know how I am. I relish in nothing more than doing nothing. What better way to do that then to take the Eurostar for two and a half hours!” Grantaire had spent the last two weeks in London, where he had mostly played in pubs and two times in Hyde Park. If that was even possible, London had been overflowing with rain and tourists even more than Paris. But at least people there spoke English. While he was there, Grantaire had met up with his ex, Floreal, who apparently was engaged to some broker by now. Grantaire was happy. She deserved better than some run down street guitarist who had to travel all around the world to make enough money every day. Floreal was glorious, beautiful Helen and he was mere Hephaestus, not worthy and not ready to start a war which would only end in chaos, for the sole purpose of winning back her heart. His mind was madness and so were his friends. Those things to not mingle well with godlike mortals.  
After these two weeks, the city and it's inhabitants had become too much for Grantaire to bear and he had decided to flee. And was there a better place to escape the English than to visit their most hated neighbours? At least until he grew tired of them too. Fortunately, that hadn't happened yet.  
“Ah, well, we can't say the same about us!”, exclaimed Montparnasse in his always so dramatic fashion he took so much pride in. “You must have heard about it, even in that goddamn land of monarchists!...” Montparnasse continued to talk while Grantaire began unpacking. First came the wireless microphone, which he needed to introduce every new song and to get enough attention from the passing pedestrians. He connected it to his big speaker. Then he put everything directly under the only street lamp to illuminate the little place. Then came his guitar. It was broken, pieces missing in some places and general holes roaming the bottom part of the instrument, but it still did its job for Grantaire. It had not always been in such a deplorable state, but even though Grantaire did his best to keep the guitar as undamaged as possible, sometimes it was inevitable, and getting it fixed, let alone buying a new one, was simply too expensive and not something Grantaire could afford. Grantaire screwed his monopod to the bottom of the guitar as fast as he could, before he set on tuning it. In the meantime, Eponine had put up the now empty guitar case, the sign to inform about the CDs and the torchlight to attract attention and make the whole thing visible in the night. In a few minutes, they were ready, and Grantaire began playing. The rhythm flowed through his veins and with every passing minute, more and more people began to stop so they could listen to him. After maybe 15 minutes, a young boy stepped up to the guitar case and let a coin fall inside. After that, the night went well. Quite a few people bought a CD from either Montparnasse or Eponine, who were standing next to him, and as the night went on and the moon rose higher and higher into the sky, the guitar filled up more and more, Montparnasse's bottle got emptier and emptier and Eponine grew more exasperated by her sort of friends-with-benefits.  
Seeing how many people were listening to him tonight, Grantaire decided to check his Facebook page the next morning to see if anybody had tried to contact him. Knowing his luck, that wouldn't be the case and all he would be greeted with after login in would be a disappointing lack of notifications. The last time someone had contacted had been over 6 months ago, and it had been a simple message telling how much they had loved him playing and that they envied him for his talent. Grantaire tried to ignore this kind of messaged as good as he could. Of course he knew people meant well when they wrote him something like this, but he couldn't help but hate how simply they dismissed all his hard work, all the hours spent alone, desperate to perfect his work and at the end of everything, still unhappy with the result, and all of this for the simple, abstract and unworthy notion of _talent_. Talent he didn't have for if Grantaire had had talent, he wouldn't have to play in the street, desperate to make ends meet. If he had had talent, he would have been signed to a record label a long time ago and wouldn't have to have produced his only CD by himself. Grantaire didn't have talent. He didn't even have luck. All he had was his guitar and himself. 

2 hours had passed. Grantaire's finger began to grow stiff. He would have loved to wear gloves, but that would have kept him from continuing to play. His cheap coat didn't do much for keeping out the cold October wind, just like his far too old shoes, which already began to slowly disintegrate. Only two more songs to play, then he could pack up. But first, he had to go through these two songs. “Ladies and gentleman, this is my penultimate song for this evening, track n° 3 on my CD, it is called A Fantasy on three melodies. I hope you like it.”

The last note was still ringing in the air when Grantaire put down his guitar and people started to applaud.  
“Thank you! Thank you very much, and have a wonderful evening!”  
Grantaire took his bow and turned off his microphone. The guitar case was full and his CD staple empty enough for his liking. Montparnasse and Eponine were whispering in their corner and a pedestrian was just giving them 10 Euros to buy a CD.  
“Were our humble people generous enough for you, or would you like to rob them even more, Oh great guitarist Grantaire?”, asked Montparnasse as soon as the first people began going away.  
“You can keep all your alliterations, Parnasse, it does not change the fact that I'm not the one robbing and pickpocketing people here,” grumbled Grantaire and screwed his monopod off to store it on his speaker.  
“Yeah, well since you're such an honourable citizen, you don't have to run away from the cops coming down the street, but we do. See you soon!” With these words, Montparnasse grabbed Eponine's hand and walked to down to the Boulevard Saint-Michel. Grantaire turned around and sure enough, there were three policemen making their way through the tourists. Well, he would have to see Eponine and Montparnasse another time. For now, at least, he had enough money to last a few days.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please don't hesitate and come talk to me either on tumblr ([Helene-Of-Flowers](http://helene-of-flowers.tumblr.com/welcome)) or on twitter ([HeleneOfFlowers](https://twitter.com/HeleneOfFlowers))!


End file.
